Diddling Considered as One of the Exact Magics
by K8BNimble
Summary: Professor Potter writes an essay on Professor Snape's magical diddling skills with a nod and a wink to Edgar Allen Poe.  Named a "Hot Rec" by 'The Daily Snitch' on LJ. Yes, this is m/m.  Don't like?  Don't read.


**Title:** Diddling Considered as One of the Exact Magics  
**Rating:** Let's say NC-17 to be safe  
**Word count:** approx 7,200  
**Warning(s):** Handjobs, Masturbation, Fondling, Spanking the Monkey, Self-Abuse, Groping…lots of Snape's hands touching things. A wee bit of dub-con in one scenario. Also – abuse of Edgar Allen Poe's fine essay of roughly the same name.  
**Summary:** Harry writes an essay on Severus' magical diddling skills with a nod and a wink to Edgar Allen Poe.

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make money from it.  
**A/N:** My deepest apologies for completely perverting Edgar Allen Poe's "Diddling Considered as One of the Exact Sciences" but really with a title like that, what can you expect? An important note – "diddling" in Poe's time meant to con someone or to deliberately mislead in order to gain something. I think we'll all agree that Snape is a Master Diddler in all meanings of the word. The first half of this is pretty close to the original, grammar, odd spellings and all. Poe must have been envisioning Snape when he wrote this. After that, of course, I veered wayyyy off.

Many thanks to isisanubis for being a terrific beta! And smooches to Accioslash for her last minute suggestions!

So excited to say this fic got a "Hot Rec" nod from 'The Daily Snitch' on LJ 9/20. Thanks to the lovely folks who have recced this to make that possible!

**Diddling Considered as One of the Exact Magics **

_Hey, diddle diddle  
The twit and the snivel _

SINCE the term began there have been two Severus's. The one had a dark tattoo and impressive proboscis, and was called Professor Snape. He had been much admired by Mr. Tom Riddle, and was a great man in small ways. He was also a small man in great ways. He was a professor I had known throughout my childhood and had taken a great dislike of. Now, as a professor in the same school, I have had the opportunity to see the other Severus. This one gave name to the most important of the Exact Magics. In this, he is a great man in a great way-I may say, indeed, in the very greatest of ways.

Diddling-or the images conveyed by the verb 'to diddle'-is sufficiently well understood. Indeed, the deed, this thing called diddling, is somewhat difficult to define, but I know it when I observe it. We may get, however, at a tolerably distinct conception of the matter in hand (his, not mine), by defining- not the thing, diddling, in itself-but man, as an animal that diddles. Had Grindelwald but hit upon this, he would have been perhaps not so disillusioned, thus leading our society into a dimness that foretold the recent forecast of uncertainty.

Very pertinently it was demanded of Merlin, why a picked hippogriff, which was clearly "a biped without feathers," was not, according to his own definition, a man? But I am not to be bothered by any similar query. Man is an animal that diddles, and there is no animal that diddles but man, although to be sure, canines take it upon themselves to thrust upon inanimate objects at times, as did my cousin, Dudley Dursley. That latter being more owned to the fact his girth was so large as to not allow his own arm to perform such exercise upon himself.

What constitutes the essence, the nare, the principle of diddling is, in fact, peculiar to the class of creatures that wear robes, often without pantaloons or knickers. A niffler thieves; a crup cheats; a kneazel outwits; a man diddles. To diddle is his destiny. "Man was made to mourn," says the poet. But not so: he was made to diddle. This is his aim-his object- his end. Certainly throughout my teen years, this proved to be true. And for this reason when a man has finished his diddle, we say he's 'done'. There are other, lesser, terms it is known by, but for our purposes, we shall say he is 'done'.

Diddling, rightly done, is a compound, of which the ingredients are minuteness, interest, perseverance, ingenuity, audacity, nonchalance, originality, impertinence, and grin. Many diddle, but few do so rightly.

**Minuteness:** Your diddler is minute. This is not to say his person is minute, but rather his actions. His operations are upon a small scale. His business is in the details, of understanding the particulars of his actions and their effects upon either his own self or on others. Should he ever be tempted into magnificent looped yanks with a group of unsavory characters, he then, at once, loses his distinctive features, and becomes what we term a "wanker." This latter word conveys the diddling idea in every respect except that of magnitude.

**Interest:** Your diddler is guided by self-interest. He scorns to diddle for the mere sake of the diddle. He has an object in view- his completion-and yours, if you are so fortunate. Often, though, he regards always the main chance. He looks to Number One. You are Number Two, and must look to complete yourself if he be not in the mood to do so. Often he shall be content to observe this process. He often looks to gain a thing outside of his own completion. It may be a simple item like an agreement to return a favor at a later date or something of greater magnitude – an opportunity to exploit an enemy, perhaps.

**Perseverance: **Your diddler perseveres. He is not readily finished, but has great stamina. He is never discouraged. Should even his partner beg to be left alone, he cares nothing about it. He steadily pursues his end, and _'Ut canis a corio nunquam absterrebitur uncto'_* so he never lets go of his game. Whether that game be cock or cockatrice, it does not matter.

**Ingenuity:** Your diddler is ingenious. His constructiveness is large as well. He understands how to plot. He invents and circumvents. Were he not Alexander he would be Diogenes. Were he not a diddler, he would be a maker of patent-pending potions or spying for the side of light. Perhaps he is all of these things.

**Audacity:** Your diddler is audacious. He is a bold man. He carries the war into the Dark Lord's fortress. He conquers all by assault – mentally, if not physically. He would not fear the crazed daggers of Bellatrix LeStrange. With a little more prudence, Sirius Black would have made a good diddler; with a trifle less blarney, Lucius Malfoy; with a pound or two more brains, Vincent Crabbe.

**Nonchalance:** Your diddler is nonchalant. He is not at all nervous. He never had any nerves. He is never seduced into a flurry. He can make a cloak swish dramatically with unspoken commands. He is never put out-unless you substitute his Earl Grey for Orange Pekoe which I, unfortunately, learned in a most difficult manner. He is cool-cool as a cucumber (which, on occasion, has served as a less than acceptable substitute). He is calm. Calm as a lecture from Professor Binns. He is easy- easy as an old Quidditch glove, or the damsels of sixth year Hufflepuff.

**Originality:** Your diddler is original-conscientiously so. His thoughts are his own. He would scorn to employ those of another, though he shows no reluctance to invade those thoughts for his own amusement. A stale trick is his aversion. He would deny completion, I am sure, upon discovering that he was obtaining it by an unoriginal diddle.

**Impertinence:** Your diddler is impertinent. He swaggers. He sets his arms a-kimbo. He thrusts. He hides his hands in his trouser pockets. He sneers in your face all the while feeling your bottom. He eats your dinner, he drinks your wine, he borrows your money, he pulls your hair, he spanks your bottom, and he steals your kisses.

**Grin:** Your true diddler winds up all with a grin. But this nobody sees but himself. He grins when his daily work is done-when his allotted labors are accomplished-at night in his own closet, and altogether for his own private entertainment. He goes home. He locks his door. He divests himself of his clothes. He puts out his candle. He gets into bed. He places his head upon the pillow. All this done, and your diddler grins. This is no hypothesis. It is a matter of course. I reason a priori, and a diddle would be no diddle without a grin. It would be a dawdle, a trifle, a bore. 

The origin of the diddle is traceable to the infancy of the Human Race. Perhaps the first diddler was Adam. Prior to Eve, how else would he have been done? At all events, we can trace the magic back to a very remote period of antiquity. The moderns, however, have brought it to a perfection never dreamed of by our thick-headed, and lubrication deprived, progenitors. Without pausing to speak of the "old saws," therefore, I shall content myself with a compendious account of some of the more recent instances that I myself have been a part of or witness thereto.

Let me begin with one that happened just shy of two months ago.

A very good diddle was this. A house elf in want of a sofa, for instance, was seen to go in and out of several stores. At length he arrived at one offering an excellent variety. He is accosted, and invited to enter, by a polite and voluble individual at the door. He finds a sofa well adapted to the room of the wizard he is in the midst of procuring it for. Upon inquiring the price, is surprised and delighted to hear a sum named at least twenty percent lower than his expectations. He hastened to bring the wizard back to view the sofa for approval. The wizard in question, not being alone, invited his guest (which was myself) to view the sofa with him. The wizard did in fact agree that the sofa would suit his purpose but he found the price exceeded his purse. He sent the house elf home with instructions to make space in his rooms for the new purchase. The storekeeper is asked to vacate the room in which the sofa is located so the wizard may consider the furniture in private. The storekeeper, not wishing to offend his prospective clients who are well known in society, absented himself with instructions as to where he could be found when a decision had been made. The wizard then turned to me and proposed a way to reduce the cost.

"I believe we need to test the structure and sturdiness of this sofa before I acquire it to ensure it will meet all of my needs," he said, very calm.

"And how do you suppose this should be accomplished?" I asked, knowing that this wizard will surely have an interesting plan.

The man raised an eyebrow and lifted my person onto the sofa with my back to him. Without saying a word, he reached into my trousers and pulled my manhood out. With the skill and dexterity I had learned to expect from him in the preceeding months, he tugged at my sheath while speaking filth and degenerative words into my ears. In no time, my seed was spent upon the sofa as I collapsed boneless into his arms. With a slight smile, he did up my zip and then proceeded to wipe mostly clean the evidence of his actions (and my emission) from the sofa.

He recalled the shop keep back into the room and expressed an interest in acquiring the piece.

The shopkeeper, being anxious to complete a sale to such a notorious person as my benefactor, seemed excited until the man pointed out a minor flaw.

"The upholstery is stained," he announced.

The shopkeeper, shocked, decried such a thing was possible, but verily the man pointed to the smudges left behind so recently by myself. It took everything in my character to prevent a blush from giving up the game.

Upon seeing the said stains, the shopkeeper exclaimed, "Oh sir, my deepest apologies. I'm sure I can find one that is more suitable."

"I think not, sir. I do think this one will do most excellently, but perhaps it is a trifle overpriced for its condition?" he hinted.

The shopkeeper, perhaps happy that he can make the sale, offered an additional thirty percent discount to which the man agreed with hesitantly.

Thus, the deal settled, the man has gotten the furniture he wished at a substantial discount and the shopkeeper, blithely ignorant, seemed well pleased as well never realizing that he had been hoodwinked. 

A most recent and quite bold diddle was this. A Deatheater meeting was to be held at a certain spot which was accessible only by means of a Portkey. The Diddler stationed himself by this Portkey, respectfully informed all members of the group that to attend the meeting ordered by their leader, they must all use said Portkey. This Portkey had been developed by the Diddler and required the use of the perpetrator's essence and any other party he wished to grant authority to. The meaning of this last sentence shall become clear in a moment.

Earlier, the Diddler requested my presence at a waterfall within the Forbidden Forest. I now believe this was to ensure the noise of our activities would go unnoticed to the approaching guests. I also now believe that the man does enjoy the thrill of the possibility of being caught out as, after the events unfolded, I returned to research this very spell and learnt that it could have been done within a two hour period prior to use. I digress though. Let me reveal the events as they unfolded to give a clearer understanding of my meaning.

I arrived at the waterfall to find him standing by a large stone which had an elaborate goblet atop.

"Good evening," I greeted the man. There was a full moon and I could clearly see his outline as he strode toward me. Without a moment of greeting or pause of requesting permission, he wrapped his arms around my back and pulled me into a passionate kiss. I surrendered to this unexpected greeting. He has a way about him that weakens the knees of lesser men like myself.

"We don't have much time," he stated in between his forays into my mouth.

"Time? For what?" I managed to ask. He pulled me forward and down onto a blanket I had not heretofore noticed. I was sitting atop the man's lap, my legs almost entangled in his robes as I automatically attempted to wrap them around him. As he kissed me, he grabbed the goblet and sat it to our side. He then quickly pulled both our respective manhoods out into the open air.

"Sir, what are…" I attempted to ask to ascertain his purpose. Of course, I could see what the act was he was playing at. I am not so unintelligible as to _not understand_'what' he was doing, but rather 'why' was he doing it? Why here, why now?

"Shhh!" he ordered. "They might hear," he said, much to my shock.

"Hear? Who hear? Who's here?" I was not making myself clear as he was making the blood quicken in me by means of firm strokes and tantalizing flicks across the more sensitive portions of my 'arbor vitae'*. The panting I was embarrassing myself with was making it hard to be understood. He scuttled himself closer and used his other arm to pull me in tighter.

"Deatheaters..." he whispered. I was unsure whether the gasp that issued forth from my mouth was from that revelation, or from the remarkable sensation of his hand clasping not only myself, but his own manhood as well. He gripped the two of us with a purpose and enfolded his right hand with his left hand. For a few minutes, nothing was heard but our joint heavy breathing and my own mumblings of incoherent pleasure as his large hands stroked and tugged the two of us. The man himself though rarely evidenced any other noise until his own completion. It could be thought he was doing nothing other than reading a tome of Greek philosophy so quiet he remained through the duration. I had difficulty restraining my own noises.

"Tell me when you are ready to finish. We need to complete this onto the goblet," he said while staring into my eyes. As much as I preferred the privacy of my own eyelids during such activities, I learned his preference was for my eyes to remain open as much as possible. I must admit, as he ne'er made a sound, sometimes the only hint of his deeper emotion could be seen by a slight darkening glint in his stare and I eagerly sought such a sight on occasion. Seeing such a response could easily quicken me.

"You must hurry. I hear them arriving. You must finish. Finish now." The low growl of his order sounded in my ear and was enough to push me forward into completion. One hand released me while the other hand continued its work. After the initial rush, I could no longer keep my eyes open, but when I did reopen them, I saw he had moved the goblet between us and finished himself upon it.

I jumped as I heard the crunch of a branch not so far away.

"Quick," he whispered as he stood and tucked himself back in. Then, he held his hand out to me. "Grab the goblet." I did so as I stood up with his aid. Without a word, he pushed me towards a crevice in the cliff. I slipped into the shadow. He grabbed the goblet from me and proceeded to massage the fluids we produced into the base. He pulled his wand and whispered a spell over it.

I watched him turn at the sound of the arrival of his guests. We had _just_ finished. What if I had come just several seconds later? My heart was pounding at just how close we had been to being caught by these interlopers.

After the requisite greetings and explanations to the new arrivals, I understood his purpose. The goblet was a Portkey and only he or I would be able to activate it. To what purpose I did not understand at that moment.

As previously stated, he informed them they must use the Portkey to attend a meeting ordered by their leader. As a member of good standing within their group, none of the persons present could find any reason to disbelieve him or doubt the sincerity of his request.

Some grumbled but all submitted, and the Diddler indicated they should all touch the cup. The irony did not go unnoticed by myself as to the choice of the Portkey as I recalled the events from my fourth year. I watched as all of the crowd shimmered and disappeared, except for the Professor, who at the last moment, let go.

This particular trick requires exact timing. Release too soon and no one is transported to the new location. Release too late, he also ends up in the same place as his fellow travellers. In this case, the location was a sealed cave blocked by wards to prevent escape by magical means. While he would be able to reactivate the Portkey for return, there was no guarantee that he could do so prior to one of his victims incapacitating or killing him.

But, luck was with us and he remained while the others were sent to their prison, effectively eliminating the most powerful allies of our nemesis, Tom Riddle, just prior to the battle in which I was to face him.

As a side note, I should mention that after the defeat of their leader, we made arrangements for the retrieval of these villains with the local authorities. I understand they are still incarcerated and I doubt they will soon forgive their former comrade for his deception. I pray he keeps constant vigilance for potential retribution. 

A very mean diddle was this. A wizard (again, myself) was insulted and almost attacked in the street in Hogsmeade by the Diddler's accomplice, a large thug I knew from my own school days, Gregory Goyle. The Diddler himself flew to my assistance, and, after giving his friend a comfortable thrashing, insisted upon attending me to my own door within Hogwarts. He bowed, with his hand upon his heart, and most respectfully bid me adieu. I entreated him, as my deliverer, to be compensated for his bravery. With a sigh, he declined to do so indicating he did not need monetary reward. "Is there no way, then, sir," I murmured, "in which I may be permitted to testify my gratitude?"

"Why, yes, there is. Perhaps you could assist me in procuring a particular ingredient for a potion," he suggested rather shyly.

In the first excitement of the moment, I almost decided upon fainting outright. It was, after all unheard of for this man to seek anyone's company. Feeling flush with the adrenaline of the near-attack and the nearness of my would be rescuer, I said I'd be delighted to assist.

He offered to have me do it the following evening, but upon my reassurances that I was quite well, allowed me to accompany him to the Potions Lab.

Now, I should illuminate the reader that at the time, I had no relationship with the Diddler outside my profession. Indeed, this was the first time he had ever requested assistance from my person even though I had been on staff for at least three months.

To continue my story…Once inside, he said, "Are you quite sure you wish to assist? This is a very personal potion and quite delicate. Once it is started, it must be completed and the other ingredients are quite rare."

Firm in my resolution to repay his kindness, and with a certain penchant for displaying both the bravery and the impetuousness of the house in which I resided in school, I nodded, quite sure of myself.

"Fine, then. Please sit there while I begin the brewing. I shall let you know when I need your assistance."

Over the next twenty minutes I became entranced while watching the man chop, slice, cut, stir, and simmer the various ingredients. The odor was rather heady. There was a strong patchouli scent permeating the room. It was not at all unpleasant.

Eventually, I wondered from where I would be gathering the required ingredient. I had assumed it would be a plant of some sort so perhaps I would have to head to the greenhouses at some point. I thought it odd he hadn't shown it to me prior to initiating the potion.

How wrong could I be?

The man pulled the glass stirrer from the potion and set it aside. He came over to where I sat perched upon a stool. He stood much closer to me than I recall him ever before standing.

"Now, good sir, while that simmers, I must collect the final ingredient," he said thickly as his gaze darkened in an unusual manner.

I looked up at him feeling somewhat anxious at his proximity. "Um, where do we need to go, sir?" I asked, curious.

"Oh, we don't need to go anywhere. What I need is right here," he answered. I was confused. Perhaps it was in a jar in this very room, but if that was the case, why did he himself not retrieve it? It would have been most understandable if it needed to be added while still stirring the potion. I quite well remembered how even the smallest detail mattered in the making of potions. I glanced around trying to ascertain the location of the needed ingredient.

"Where is it?" I asked.

In the succeeding moment, the man had wrapped one arm around my back and put his other hand directly on my groin. In an unmanly squeak, I yipped and fell back in surprise. For one moment I was glad that his arm was there as it kept me from falling. In the next moment, I was aghast as I registered that the other hand was firmly grasping at my Thomas*.

"What! What is the meaning of this?" I managed to ask, sounding affronted and less angry than I should have.

"I require ejaculate, sir. Yours to be precise." The man smirked and he rubbed circles through the wool of my trousers. I felt myself getting embarrassingly stiff.

"No!" I tried to back off. This man, this pervert, was trying to accost me. He was stronger than I anticipated though and held my back firmly in place.

"You did agree," he reminded me, "and you owe me. The potion cannot be stopped and I must have it within the next fifteen minutes. The other ingredients are worth more than Grimmauld Place."

Admittedly, I had agreed to this arrangement. It was my own fault for not requesting the details. I did not want to have to pay to replace the ingredients. Plus, my own blood was beginning to boil, but not in anger, rather in a decidedly different emotion. Perhaps, I could do this and be done with this quickly.

"Fine, then. Let me do it myself in private. Do you have a chamber I could retire to?" I pushed back from him.

"As you know from your years as my student, good sir, I always collect my own ingredients. I promise you, it will be pleasant." With this announcement, he swept me up into his arms and carried me bridal-style across the room and threw me onto a small, ratty divan.

Before I got my bearings, he had undone my trousers. After quickly pulling me out, he licked the palm of his hands and began to stroke me from root to tip in soft, slow strokes. It felt dissimilar than my own hand and quite different than the delicate hand of a female that had, on occasion, been felt.

No, this was bigger, less tentative. It was overall a soft touch but with the slight hardness of the occasional callous, it sent a different tingle through me than I had previously ever experienced. The hand was not at all hesitant. He did not appear at all reluctant to reach underneath and fondle the bawbles where I was particularly sensitive, unlike the females who were either too afraid to touch them altogether or touched far too lightly to be anything more than a tickle. No, like myself, he knew the right firmness with which to roll them and had a large enough palm into which they fit exceedingly well. Manipulating both areas sent my mind into overdrive. I had never felt anything like this. I had my eyes closed trying to forget exactly who was doing this but the hand paused a moment.

"Look at me." It was a soft voice, but I heard the command beneath it. Wanting the hand to continue its movement, I did open my lids to see those blackened eyes gazing upon my now flushed face. I would have been mortified had I not been in such a state of desire at that moment.

Soon he removed the hand from my bollocks. His now freed hand pulled his wand and waved it so a small test tube floated in the air towards me. He sat the wand down and then cupped the back of my head, gripping my hair lightly. Onward and onward the strokes came. He began to speak deviant things at me, things I could not repeat in good company. Oh, how those words stirred me. He spoke of things he'd like to do to me with not just his hands, but his mouth, his tongue, his own manhood. Upon hearing these things in that deep voice I was used to hearing recite lists with, I soon began to peak. At the moment of arrival, I gasped and he captured my mouth with his, thrusting his tongue inside my mouth. The tube magically collected my essence.

As soon as I leaned back, he stood and took the vial back over to the potion and poured it in. Quietly, he stirred. He did not look up at me. I began to gather myself.

"You may go. Your debt is paid." The words sounded cold, dismissive. I was unsure of myself. I should have been angry, but instead I felt a sense of sadness. I got up to leave and was standing in the doorway when I realized I couldn't leave without saying _anything_. Not quite knowing what the right decorum was in this circumstance, I asked, "What is the potion for anyways?"

He looked up finally and smirked, "Personalized lubricant. I'll send it to your rooms."

"My rooms? Why? What would I need it for?" I asked, perplexed.

"I think you'll find out soon enough," he said. He waved his wand and the door shut in my face.

I stood there realizing I had, in fact, been played from the outset.

A flood of emotions soared through me – anger, embarrassment, irritation, shock. I was certain I would in no manner ever have need of such a thing. I became determined to forget the entire event. 

But as there is really no end to diddling, so there would be none to this essay, were I even to hint at half the variations, or inflections, of which this magic is susceptible and in which I have observed and/or participated in. I must bring this paper, perforce, to a conclusion, and this I can do no better than by a summary notice of a very decent, but rather elaborate diddle, of which our own Hogwarts was made the theatre, not so long ago, and which was subsequently repeated with success, in other still more verdant localities of the wizarding world. In fact, the first instance of this Diddle to my own eyes changed the course of my life.

It occurred not long after the shocking events I have just recounted. I had made it a point to avoid being in the presence of the man for some days. I had never had an experience where another male had not only approached me, but in essence, accosted my being in such a way that made me experience a pleasure I had heretofore never experienced. My, admittedly few in number, fumblings with the fairer sex accomplished a completion, but had not left me as stirred or exhilarated as did that short time with a person I had been so sure I disliked and equally sure of his same regard (or disregard) towards my person. Having this assumption torn a sundered so abruptly was a shock to my system. Truth be told, I did not know if he actually liked me or just enjoyed disrupting my calm as he must have known his actions would do.

Although I avoided the man in person, I could not avoid him in my thoughts. His image burned in my inner eye. I could not close my eyes without seeing his darkened gaze, his smirking lip or hearing his whispered growls. And these images began to torment me. I tried in vain to shift the images to more appropriate subjects when I felt the all too frequent tightening of my trousers.

And so, several weeks of these disruptive thoughts began to unhinge me. Indeed, it made me doubt my very self at times.

One evening, a fellow professor, Draco Malfoy, stopped by my office to discuss a joint demonstration of dueling techniques we planned to perform for our students. He had been a classmate of mine, and while in school we were rivals, now we were colleagues. The evening went longer than planned and Draco suddenly recalled an appointment with his fiancé for which he was now late. He requested that I return some items to Professor Snape which he had borrowed earlier and had promised the return of that evening. At his request, I begrudgingly agreed to take the items to the Potions Lab.

With a slight trepidation of seeing the man again, I approached his lab. I knocked gently, but there was no answer. I considered leaving them in the corridor, but knew that would be foolhardy. Who knew what student might pass and help themself to whatever was in the box? I tried the door latch and, much to my amazement, it opened.

I slowly opened the door and allowed myself in. I looked upon the stool I had sat in those weeks before and the images I had been avoiding returned full force. This was the location those events had happened. I thought it best to set the items down and leave the room quickly.

As I turned to go, I heard a low moan, followed by a second. I looked for the source of the sound, but saw nothing evident in the outer area. There was, however, a light shining from the back storeroom indicating that someone was within. I approached cautiously. If it was indeed the Professor, I wished to avoid him. But what if he had been injured, or worse, what if a student had broken in and injured themself? I crept upon the room and looked in.

"Oh…yes…um…" In shock, my gaze fell upon the Professor sitting on a crate with his robes wide open and his legs equally wide open. His own hand was stroking an impressive specimen of manhood. Transfixed, I could not pull my eyes away. In my time I had seen other men. I had been on the Quidditch team after all and what boy does not look upon others in order to judge his own merits? I had never been embarrassed by my build. I was surely suitably adequate for someone my size. I was neither overly large nor overly small. I had thought Cedric Diggory was among the largest I had seen (and was it any wonder he was so popular when he was matriculating?) however Professor Snape was certainly comparable, if not superior. It was quite a stunning sight.

The light shone just directly onto his chest and groin to highlight the lean, pale angles of his slightly underweight body. No muscle man was he. While he was relatively hairless upon the chest, a dark smattering of short, dark curls created a dramatic backdrop for the thick, wide instrument he was tending to with his right hand. A sheen glistened on it which the light reflected off of. I could swear I saw every throbbing vein bulging. His large, elegant hand gripped and slid along the length ending each upward stroke with a hard twist.

Other than the slight panting and occasional low moan, he made not a sound, but his head was thrown back and his eyes closed. I was much relieved to realize he had not seen me at the door. I dropped down so I could observe while berating myself for not immediately vacating the room. My own Adam's apple bobbed up and down in rhythm to his thrusts.

I watched. I found that I could not **not** watch. Here was a man I had known as cold, aloof, stern, nasty even, lost in moment of pleasure. It was quite mesmerizing. More so now than the effect he had had on myself on the previous occasion as he had been in control and I had been lost to sensation. Here, I could concentrate and he was unaware of my presence.

And so, with a minimum of movement or noise, I watched him exact the drips of excitement from himself. Small thrusts into his hands, minute movements of his long, lean fingers brushing across the tip, toes curling as a particular rush became apparent, a flush in his cheek I had never witnessed before.

I strained to hear the noises that were being ushered forth from his thin lips. To hear the hitches in his breath was hypnotic. The loud panting gasps and clumsy oafish thrusts I had accidentally witnessed with former dorm mates in my youth were nowhere in sight. No, this man moved with tight precision in elegant eroticism. I crept a bit closer, almost without knowing I had done so, and could begin to understand him.

"Um…yes, so nice, your mouth is so nice…suck harder, yes…" I wondered who his imaginary companion was. What person gave this desire to the usually restrained man?

I managed to palm myself down. In any other venue I would have been mortified. In this though, I was already lost to my own lustful thoughts and ignored the small voice which argued vainly to me that I did not find the male form intriguing. In fact, in a sudden epiphany, I realized this was one of the most erotic visions I had ever taken in. He quickened sharply and I heard his panting increase. I slipped back a bit to ensure I could not be seen.

In astonishment, I watched him arch strongly, almost bent backwards as I realized his completion was near. I had a sudden urge to rush forward and take him into my own mouth, but restrained myself from such folly.

Imagine my shock though as he ejaculated my name at the moment of arrival. "Harry!" he cried, "Fuck, yes! Harry!"

I fell backwards in awe and could do nothing more than stare at the spectacle before me. In normal circumstances, I would have known to rush from the room and pretend nothing had occurred, but I was frozen – wide-eyed as I watched the man open his own eyes and saw me collapsed on the floor in front of him.

Expecting a rage, an insult, a vindictive assault of verbiage I would be hard pressed to understand, perhaps even expecting to be punched for my audacity at remaining in the room, I did _not_ expect what actually _did_ occur.

He sat up slowly all the way, not bothering to either close his robes or his legs, and slowly licked his essence off his own fingers while he gazed into my stunned eyes.

"Perhaps next time, you can join me for real instead of just in my mind," he said with a very slow smile. He stood up and left the room. I remained on the floor, flummoxed.

In truth, in that moment I knew he wanted me. Wanted me in a way I had thought only a woman might. I also knew I wanted him – and in a way I wanted no females of my current acquaintance. And that is why this singular scenario is the most important Diddle of all.

The conclusion is, that in retelling of these particular stories and thereby also recollecting the dozens, nay hundreds, of other scenarios, that there is no Diddler greater, in every meaning of the word, than Professor Severus Snape. Point in fact, the best diddle I was ever witness to changed the very course of my life. And, I was to learn soon thereafter that I did have great need for that very special potion and became quite appreciative of the magic of diddling as performed by a Master.

_

_*Translation - You will never scare a dog away from a greasy hide. Apropos in Professor Snape's case. Also, I believe this applies to the author as well. In this instance, I believe I am the bitch._

*Thomas and Arbor Vitae were slang terms for penis in Victorian times. Guess that means Voldemort really was a dick. 

"I still think this is a strange way to learn about muggle literature," Harry grinned as Severus looked up from the essay Harry had written.

"I thought you'd enjoy reliving some of our best moments as seen through the lens of famous authors," Severus chuckled. "I know I have. I still think about the story you did based on Austin's "Pride and Prejudice."

"You make a convincing Darcy, Severus."

"Your Lizzie was passable – though perhaps you're more of an Emma."

Harry slapped him lightly. "I am not that much of a busybody!" he announced, insulted.

"You were when you burst your way into my office and demanded I teach you literature. Impertinent brat. Seeing how difficult teaching you over the years was, I decided a different tact was necessary. In addition, I wanted to find a way to amuse myself as I am already more than familiar with English literature. As your teacher in this, what is the number one rule about writing?"

"Write about what you know," Harry repeated, yet again.

"And, Potter, the one thing you know about is sex." Severus leaned back and indicated the Harry should sit on his lap. "And _that_ is a subject I also enjoy."

"Well, I had a pretty good teacher for those lessons as well," Harry said as he kissed the man after he snuggled on top of him.

"Hmmn. I shall have to thank him someday," Severus whispered.

"Not sure you'd want to. He is a bit of a Diddler you know. Has a thing for accosting young professors in the Potions Lab."

"Sounds like a pervert. A dirty, dirty pervert."

"Is there any other kind?" They resumed kissing for a few moments and Severus slid down the sofa until Harry lay on top of him. Harry pulled away for a moment. "I still love this sofa. It's perfect for sex," he stated out of the blue.

Severus laughed. "Ah, is that _'Your Philosophy of Furniture'_? As long as it's good for sex, it's a good piece of furniture?"

"Can you think of a better recommendation?" Harry asked as he kissed along Severus' jawline and neck. Suddenly he looked up and looked at his partner. "You know, I never did ask if Draco made it in time that night."

"What night?" Severus said as he kissed Harry.

"You know, the night that changed my life. The one you just read about," Harry answered.

Severus laughed. "There was no meeting. He wasn't late."

Harry pulled up a bit. "What? What do you mean? Then why did he…" Harry paused and looked at Severus suspiciously. "You great wanker! You set me up. You used Draco to set me up so I'd find you like that!" He smacked Severus on the chest and began laughing.

"I **am** a great wanker, aren't I? Didn't you just write all about how great a wanker I am?" Severus pulled Harry tighter to him and pinched his bum for good measure.

Nose to nose, Harry yelped a little at the sensation. "And I fell for it. I really am an idiot at times." He grinned broadly, shaking his head.

"But you're my idiot," Severus said as he watched his young lover with an amused grin. "I am surprised though. I thought you'd pick something more well-known of Poe's to tackle. You know, _'The Raven', 'Fall of the House of Usher', _or_ 'The Cask of Amontillado'_. I'm surprised you went with one of his essays."

"I considered _'The Raven'_. I mean you do look like a great black bird at times with this beak," which Harry proceeded to kiss, "but I hated the thought of saying "nevermore" in regards to sex. And I sure didn't want to be _'The Man that Was Used Up,'_. Besides, once I saw the title, I couldn't help it. I mean, you are one of the world's greatest Diddlers, and I don't just mean that in the sexual meaning." He kissed Severus again, this time slightly tugging on his bottom lip. "So, did I do Poe justice? Do I get my reward?"

"The essay was fine. Your author's notes at the end, however, were a little cheeky. Speaking of the Dark Lord, did you not think about using _'The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar'_? That seems an easy one." Severus snickered.

"I didn't want to think of Voldemort in any kind of context like that. You should just be glad I didn't focus on _'Four Beasts in One – the Homo-Cameleopard'_. Just think of the outfit I would have had to wear! And trying to decide between one hump and two..." Harry waggled his eyebrows.

"You certainly are an _'Imp of the Perverse'_. I think Mr. Poe would be appalled at how you twisted his very fine essay. I'm quite proud. You have indeed earned your reward, Professor Potter. Shall we retire to the bedroom so you can receive _'The Assignation'_ properly?"

"Indeed, Professor Snape. I am most anxious to receive my reward because _'Thou Art the Man,'_" Harry laughed as he took Severus' hand.

"Be still my _'Tell-Tale Heart_," Severus said as he led Harry back to the bedroom and proceeded to remind Harry exactly what a fine Diddler he was. 


End file.
